


Inappropriate Behaviour

by kethni



Category: Veep
Genre: AU, F/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kent may have made a terrible mistake in hiring Sue as his assistant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inappropriate Behaviour

 

The timing had been most opportune, certainly. With Meyer standing down, Kent’s remit would be expanding as they sought another VEEP. An assistant/office manager would be a huge boon. Miss Wilson was extremely competent, exceptionally organised, and, crucially, already experienced in dealing with the D.C. denizens.

Nonetheless, he was a little uneasy. Logically and rationally hiring her was the correct choice. Irrationally, however, he was… well, he was nervous, if you wanted to know the truth. He’d had the little office freshened up, which made him feel slightly better. Not enough, but a little.

She tapped on his office door at exactly nine o’clock. He almost tripped over his feet as he went to meet her. She was dressed rather severely in a black skirt suit and a pair of French heeled black ankle boots. She was holding a small box of her belongings.

‘Mr. Davison.’

‘Miss Wilson.’ He pulled on his jacket. ‘Right on time.’

‘Punctuality is the politeness of princes.’

‘I’ll show you to your office. We’ve had it repainted but of course you can mark your own territory however you see fit.’

She looked at him. He thought about it.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ he said.

‘Good.’

‘May I carry that for you?’

Miss Wilson was silent for a moment, before holding the box out. ‘Thank you.’

They fell into step as they walked along the corridor. The dream metrics office wasn’t far from Kent’s, but it was around a corner and therefore a few feet outside the most desirable area of real estate. He’d had to work hard to carve out so much space for his team. They were still resented for it, by the lazy and the moronic, but that was no loss.

Kent opened the door for Miss Wilson, and she hesitated a moment before stepping through. Inside, the staffers were going through their various and miscellaneous morning rituals as they attempted to gear up for the day ahead.

‘I won’t set up unrealistic expectations by introducing you to everyone at this point. Obviously you’re unlikely to remember a whole host of new names right now. Rest assured that you’ll doubtless pick them up in time.’

Miss Wilson nodded. ‘Is there a coffee machine?’

‘Over here.’ He’d brought it with him when he returned to the White House. It was an indulgence but he thought it an acceptable one.

Miss Wilson raised an eyebrow as she examined the gleaming coffee machine, small worktop refrigerator, and the neat jars of tea, coffee, and sugar. ‘Is there a communal pot to which I should contribute?’

‘Oh, here, sorry, I was counting up.’ Terry, a twenty-something boy with reddish hair and faded blue eyes, was holding up a jar.  

‘For two dollars per person, per week, Terry keeps us in caffeine and confectionaries,’ Kent explained.

 Miss Wilson inclined her head to him. ‘I see. Good to meet you Terry. I enjoy both.’

Terry grinned.

Kent cleared his throat. ‘I’ll show you your office.’ He juggled the box so that he could hold the door open for her, and followed her into the small room.

She walked over to the window immediately, before examining the potted cactus. She turned around as Kent was carefully putting her box on the desk.

‘There’s an induction pack on the desk. Obviously much of it will be familiar to you but I would urge you to peruse it.’ He straightened his sleeves. ‘I’ll find a few minutes this afternoon to show you the escape routes and the fall back positions.’ 

That made her blink. ‘Fall back positions?’

‘In the event of an emergency that prevents egress, be it fire, flood, or terrorism, we have several fall back positions stocked with emergency supplies and equipment.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Perhaps a different terminology is in use in the Eisenhower building.’

She shook her head and he noticed the small pearl earrings on her delicate lobes.

‘If there is then I was never told.’

‘Ah. Well.’

Miss Wilson turned on her computer. ‘What time do you take coffee?’

Kent shook his head. ‘Feel free to grab one whenever you feel the need.’ 

She took off her jacket and hung it on the coat stand. ‘When do you take _your_ coffee? Also, how do you take it?’

‘Oh, I can do that myself. I’m sure that you have more important things.’

Miss Wilson looked at him. Raised an eyebrow. ‘Sir, have you had an assistant before?’

‘Uh. No.’

She nodded. ‘At your leisure I’ll need a list of important dates: family birthdays, anniversaries, those sorts of things.’

Kent rubbed his forehead. He was feeling more than a little lost. ‘My important dates?’

Miss Wilson pulled out her chair but didn’t yet sit down. ‘Sir, my job is to make your life easier. I deal with the small but important things so that you can concentrate on the larger issues. Now, when and how do you take your coffee?’

‘I like it black and sweet,’ he said meekly. ‘Uh, around eleven and four generally. It depends on how busy I am.’

She took out her phone and made herself a note. ‘Very good. Perhaps when you return to show me the escape routes you might give me your dates and contacts.’

As he left the office, he had to resist the urge to shake his head. It would hardly do to give any of his team the slightest indication of discord.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Ben asked, he was sprawled in Kent’s guest chair and leaning back precariously. The castor which was supporting his entire weight made a tiny creaking noise. ‘I’ve been waiting around for you with my thumb up my ass.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Brought these.’ Ben threw a binder onto the table.

Kent pushed past him and sat down at his desk. ‘Am I supposed to have some idea what you’re talking about?’

‘Candidates for the next VEEP. Meyer was a lame horse looking for a shotgun but she was a good focal point.’

Kent snorted. ‘Sure. Everyone focused on how incompetent she was.’

‘And she was a woman.’ Ben prodded the desk with his finger. ‘We can’t replace her with a standard tall, rich, white guy.’

Kent narrowed his eyes. ‘Tell me that isn’t a binder full of women.’

Ben shrugged. ‘Women and minorities.’

‘But no short men.’

‘Christ no. No fucker gives a shit about those assholes.’

Kent took off his jacket and hung it up. ‘Alright.’

‘What the fuck does that mean?’

‘It means leave it here and I’ll look at it. You have other copies. Not even you could be that amateurish.’

Ben folded his arms across his chest. ‘Heard you stole Meyer’s appointment secretary. Meyer is pissed. You know it’s traditional to wait for the corpse to stop moving before the maggots move in.’

‘She’s not a piece of equipment, Ben.’ Kent twitched his mouse until his screen blinked on.

‘So it’s all about her competence?’ Ben asked.

‘Certainly. What else?’

‘I dunno, digging up dirt on Meyer?’

Kent relaxed a fraction. ‘You’re aware that’s far more your sphere than mine.’

Ben narrowed his eyes. ‘What did you think I was going to say?’

‘When?’

‘Just then, don’t give me that shit. You thought I was going to say something about you hiring the Barracuda.’ The chair landed with a thud as he lent forward. ‘You didn’t think I was going to ask if you wanted to fuck her, did you?’

A muscle jumped in Kent’s cheek. ‘Why would I think that?’

‘Gee, I don’t know. Guilty conscience?’ Ben snorted. ‘You’d two’d be a great match. Right up until you split and she fucking sues us. Jesus Christ, you’re supposed to be smart!’

‘And you’re being ridiculous. I am well aware of the HR protocols, even if I had some... admiration for Miss Wilson, I would certainly not act upon it.’

‘Good. Because much as it would amuse me if she bit your dick off, this administration doesn’t need the publicity.’

Kent shook his head. ‘Have you quite finished your wild and potentially slanderous fantasising?’

***

At a little past eleven, when he was trapped on the phone, Miss Wilson tapped on the door. She opened it after a moment and walked in. She gave him a nod and placed a cup of coffee neatly on the desk, along with a plate of cookies, and left.

Cookies. Bad sign. Women who wanted to feed you, were not women who saw you as an adult. Kent wasn’t asking the earth. He considered himself a realist: he didn’t expect to be liked. He did think it was reasonable to expect a certain amount of respect. He did hope that she would at least be able to fake it.

It was a busy day. The mountain of data to process was fine. The dozens of visitors traipsing in and out of his off were much less so. It was at moments like this that he envied the various politicians their staffs. He was tempted to employ a doorman. Then of course he was in and out of the oval office as POTUS had a whole series of meltdowns over everything from rumours of terrorist cells to political cartoons washing around the dregs of the social networks. He didn’t manage to get back into the dream metrics office until almost three o’clock.

Her door was ajar, which left him uncertain if he should knock or simply walk straight in. He hesitated for a moment, which was evidently as long as was required for her to either hear movement or see his shadow under the door.

‘Yes?’

Kent slipped inside the office. ‘Apologies, Miss Wilson, for my late return. My desire to continue our discussion in a timely manner was sadly undermined by spiralling events.’

Her desk had now gained a variety of stationery and several binders. She paused, making handwritten notes on a printout of some sort, and looked up at him.

‘Understood.’

He pulled the guest chair nearer to the desk and sat down. ‘I’ve been waylaid by just about every senator and lobbyist around.’

She raised a perfectly coiffured eyebrow. ‘Obviously they’re unware that I’m working for you now. That will soon be corrected.’

‘I have no doubt.’ Kent clasped his hands together in his lap. ‘What would you like to do first?’ He winced at a twinge in his stomach – another missed meal was protesting.

Miss Wilson moved aside the paperwork and clicked on the mouse. ‘Your next of kin and important dates.’

‘Ah.’ Kent dug out a piece of paper from his pocket and carefully unfolded it. ‘I jotted these down before.’

He was a compulsive jotter and doodler, although he’d managed to produce a ‘clean’ copy with his best attempt at legible handwriting.

‘Mother. Siblings. Housekeeper.’ Miss Wilson looked at him. ‘No girlfriends or boyfriends?’

He wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed or surprised. ‘Married to my work.’

Her mouth twitched slightly. ‘As you say, Sir. If at any point you would like to add a name or names please feel free. It is purely for my records.’

Kent felt his cheeks warm slightly at the implication. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ He watched as she quickly and efficiently entered the data into her system.

Miss Wilson finished and stood up, neatening her blouse. ‘Perhaps tomorrow we can go through your schedule.’

‘Fine.’

His stomach growled loudly.  He hoped, momentarily, that it hadn’t been audible to her. But then she sat down again, turned around, and took something from her desk drawer. She handed it to him.

Kent looked at it. It was a neatly wrapped sandwich.

‘I noticed that you missed lunch,’ she said. ‘It’s duck and gruyere on rye.’

‘You didn’t get that here.’ Was he supposed to eat it now or wait until after they’d finished talking? His stomach was voting that he rip the packet open as soon as possible.

‘Please, go ahead,’ she said, nodding at it.

‘I probably should attempt too be at my peak efficiency when demonstrating the emergency procedures.’ Kent neatly unwrapped the packet and took a bite of the sandwich. It was good. It was extremely good.

‘I’ll get you a coffee to wash that down.’

He watched her stand, pivot on her heel, and stalk out of the door. As sights in the White House went, it was certainly one of the more aesthetically pleasing. In fact, the only thing he could immediately identify as more pleasing was the view of her returning.

‘Thank you.’

‘Not a problem, Mr. Davison.’

***

At home, Kent had one of the meals Ana had left in the fridge and then spent a little time working on a model boat. It was month end so he wrote Ana's cheque and put it on the mantelpiece. The Polish woman kept house for a quite reasonable amount, cooked for a little extra, and warmed beds on a case-by-case basis. She was known to offer an excellent if somewhat eccentric service. Kent had slept with her a few times, but it was a little... well. It was anything but ideal to be his age and occasionally sleeping with the twenty-something housekeeper. He wasn't a kid anymore.

Not that he was swimming in alternate options. He’d heard some women claim that men grew more attractive as they aged but he wasn’t sure that was true. Scratch that. He was sure that it wasn’t. He was never any kind of Casanova. He’d be the first to admit it. But when he was young an ability to talk to women wasn’t imperative. Now, well. He’d be happy to listen to someone else talk. Happier still to be comfortably silent with someone while they both did whatever.

But, that wasn’t going to happen. He was realistic enough to understand and accept that. He’d made his choices in life and had nobody else to blame or thank for the consequences. What was the point of dwelling on the past or the impossible? It was far more rational to concentrate on the here and now.

***

Kent was constantly aware of the risk of slipping into… inappropriate behaviour with Miss Wilson. Initially he had assumed that the primary hazard would be that his admiration would become obvious. More than the fear of any unpleasantness pursuant to that revelation, he had no doubt that she was perfectly capable of handling the situation better than he could, he had a deep-seated dread of becoming one of _those_ men. The ones who humiliated themselves by fawning over women young enough to be their daughters. He’d seen it happen far too often and far too often to men who should’ve known better.

As the weeks passed, it became clearer to him that he’d misjudged the danger. Dependency – that was a clear and imminent threat. He should’ve never agreed to the coffee. That had been a major tactical error. Coffee was sometimes silently placed on the desk while he was on the phone or in a meeting. More often it lead to stilted, uncomfortable moments where he tried to think of something to say. Coffee had somehow opened the door to her ensuring that he had lunch. As much as he tried to grab a sandwich at his desk, or pretend that he was eating out, at least twice a week Miss Wilson provided him with lunch.

It was easy, that was the problem. Easy to abdicate things that he could, and _should_ , do himself. Not because he was lazy, that wasn’t one of his faults, but because… well. It was an excuse to talk to her. He’d seen plenty of men who should have known better treat their assistants or secretaries as surrogate wives. He had no desire to embarrass himself, and even less inclination to demean her with that.

***

He woke up feeling exhausted. Tired deep in his bones. That hardly seemed warranted. Waking up far more tired than when you went to sleep violated every natural law. It was hard work getting out bed and he practically staggered into the shower. He could go to sleep right here in the cubicle. Simply close his eyes and drift away. Except it was Thursday. Ana worked Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. It wouldn’t do to have her come in and find him asleep in the shower. It was one thing to believe she probably laughed at behind his back, which was doubtless the prerogative of any employee, but laughing at him to his face would be intolerable.

So he showered; more or less, dried himself off; or near enough, and got dressed. He should probably have trimmed his beard, but he could barely see his face in the mirror. Waving a pair of scissors around seemed like a particularly poor idea. Ditto driving. He called a cab and collapsed into the back seat. Halfway to the White House, he remembered that, although he’d brushed his teeth, he hadn’t had any breakfast. He didn’t feel hungry, or thirsty. The thought of food… no. He’d, have to make sure Miss Wilson didn’t find out he hadn’t eaten. She’d start bringing him breakfast.

She woke him up, walking into the room with his coffee. She actually paused in the doorway for a moment, before shutting the door behind her. She put down the cup on the desk and then folded her arms. Kent felt his heart sink.

‘Should you be here, sir?’

The smell of the coffee was turning his stomach.

‘I’m fine, thank you.’

‘You look as though you’re dying.’

She reached out suddenly and put her palm on his forehead. It took him a moment to realise she was touching him, and another moment for him to shift back.

‘You’re boiling up.’ She cleaned her hands with a disposable wipe. ‘And you’re clammy.’

‘It’s not as if I asked you to start grabbing at me,’ he muttered. ‘Or for your expert medical opinion.’

Miss Wilson’s lips tightened. ‘Please let me know if you need anything, Mr. Davison.’

He didn’t drink his coffee, or the water that she brought. He did dry swallow the painkillers, since a furious throb was building up at the back of his head.

When he fell asleep, just before lunch, he slept through until just after two. She’d been in the room while he slept: he could smell the lingering scent of her perfume. Even his pride had a limit. He went home, with as little fuss as possible. He didn’t even tell his staff he was going. He certainly didn’t tell Miss Wilson.

He’d forgotten that Ana was leaving early to pick up her mother from the airport, which saved him an awkward conversation. So he dragged himself into his bedroom, left his clothes where they fell, and collapsed onto the bed. He felt like sleeping until Christmas.

He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know what day it was. He only knew that there was an acrid taste in his mouth and his stomach was beginning to spasm. His legs gave way beneath him. He half crawled and half dragged himself into the bathroom. He retched just as he reached the toilet bowl. Grabbed hold of it as if it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. He retched again. He hadn’t eaten all day. He’d barely drunk anything. His stomach went into spasm, but there was only bile, bile and pain. He lay his head against the cool porcelain and tried to catch his breath.

***

**_‘.... for me?’_ **

He was cold. Freezing cold. Was he outside? His apartment was never cold.

**_‘Mr. Davison, please... can you just…’_ **

Why was he flat on his front? He didn’t sleep that way. It wasn’t comfortable. But he was tired. So tired.

**_‘God damn it, wake up! This would be a fucking stupid way to die!’_ **

 

Noise. Voices. Engine. Lights. Too bright...

Stomach clenching. Acrid taste.

‘Back up, he’s going to spew.’

‘Get the line back in.’

‘He’s going to pull it out again.’

**_‘Is he going to be alright?’_ **

‘Get the restraints.’

**_‘Is he going to be alright?’_ **

‘We’ll do our best. He’s severely dehydrated.’

Someone was holding his hand. When had that last happened? When had someone last wanted to touch him?

**_‘He was fine on Wednesday! How could he be so ill, so quickly?’_ **

‘It happens. He’s not a young guy. You said he went to work. Workaholic types don’t always look after themselves. He’s got some underlying virus but the dehydration is the problem now.’

Tired. So… so tir...

***

The world beyond his eyelids was too bright. Someone was holding his hand. The air smelled of iodine. Someone was holding his hand. He wasn’t at home. The background sounds and smells were wrong.

Someone was holding his hand.

‘Mr. Davison?’

‘So bright.’ His voice creaked. He sounded ninety.

‘Please don’t head toward any bright lights, sir.’

‘Cross my heart.’ He opened his eyes a crack. Everything around him was painted in soft pastel tones. ‘It looks like the eighties in here. Why can’t I move my arms?’ He winced as he swivelled his head. Miss Wilson was sat beside his bed. She was wearing a neat, pink checked shirt and soft blue jeans. He didn’t look at his arms. He didn’t look at the hand holding his. He didn’t want her to remember she was holding his hand, and suddenly let go.

‘You kept pulling at the IV,’ she said. ‘Apparently it’s quite common.’

‘Quite common under what circumstances?’

A muscle jumped in her jaw. ‘I beg your pardon. They say that you’re severely dehydrated. It can lead to some confusion and irritability.’ She brushed her hair back with her free hand. ‘When you didn’t come into work or call in sick I became... concerned. I convinced your super to let me in.’

‘And I was confused and irritable?’

She shook her head. ‘You were passed at on the bathroom floor. I couldn’t wake you so I called an ambulance. They gave you fluids. That was when you came around a little.’

‘Oh.’ Kent wanted to sit up, but he couldn’t with his arms restrained. He didn’t want to risk asking her take off the restraints.

‘That was yesterday afternoon. It’s Saturday morning.’

He nodded. A whole day lost. ‘What was I wearing?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘What was I wearing; as I lay passed out on the floor?’

‘Oh.’ A tiny smile tugged at her lips. ‘Boxers,’ she said. ‘And one sock.’

Kent closed his eyes. He’d have rather been found by just about anyone else. Anyone in the world.

‘I’ve embarrassed you,’ she said.

‘Humiliated would be more apt.’ He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

She let go of his hand. ‘I beg your pardon.’

Shit. ‘Miss Wilson –’

‘I’ll fetch the nurse.’

***

Perhaps he should have lied. Pretended it wasn’t obvious to anyone with a modicum of sense that he was mortified. Whatever shreds of respect she might’ve still had for him had evaporated in that bathroom. That was more unpleasant than it should’ve been.

Boredom kept him niggling at it. He had nothing to pass the time besides his thoughts.

‘Visiting hours are at three,’ the nurse said to him, as she checked up on him. ‘Three until five and then from six until eight.’

He looked at her blankly.

‘You follow me, Mr. Davison?’

‘Certainly, I'm merely querying the relevence to me.'

She started to reply and then caught herself. ‘Just thought you’d like to know. In case someone comes to visit you.’

He had a pretty shrew idea how likely that was, so he wasn’t surprised or disturbed when nobody came by. He was glad he was in a private room. A constant parade of other people’s visitors would have been aggravating in the extreme.

On Sunday afternoon the boredom, and his own much increased mobility, had him insisting on going home. Even leaving AMA he had to promise, solemnly, that there was someone at home to look after him. He had to resolve to take things easy. He didn’t normally tell so many lies outside of work.

But it was good to get home. He had a shower. Then he put on some music, and worked on a model boat. He really didn’t know what he was going to do about Miss Wilson. Just the thought of her walking in on him like that made him want to cringe. He thought about phoning his mother and bouncing some ideas off her. But she was unlikely to have the time or the inclination, even if he wanted to admit to her the specifics of the situation, which he didn’t.

He knew it was illogical to obsess about what he’d been wearing over the seriousness of the situation. It had been serious. The medical staff had gone to great lengths to emphasise that. As if anything he had done could have exacerbated the situation. He thought he was being blamed for his own illness.

At six, he forced himself to eat some soup and drink some water. It was an effort: his stomach felt as if someone had wrung it like a wet towel. Afterwards he curled up on the couch to read a novel. When the buzzer sounded in the quiet room, it so startled him that he almost threw the book across the room. It took him a moment to even realise what the sound was.

He was tempted not to answer but recent experience suggested that if was Miss Wilson, as he strongly suspected, she’d simply go to the building superintendent.

He combed his beard quickly, changed his t-shirt, and spritzed himself with deodorant. Not ideal but it would have to do.

She looked annoyed.

‘I wasn’t expecting you, was I?’

‘Evidently not. The hospital told me that you left.’ She walked into the apartment. ‘After they left me sitting for twenty minutes.’

Kent licked his lips. ‘You came to visit me?’

‘Certainly.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you tell anyone that you were leaving?’

‘Well, I wasn’t anyone expecting anyone to come looking.’

Her expression softened a little. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Much better.’ They were standing in the middle of the room. He hadn’t even asked her to sit down, let alone offered her refreshments.

‘Shall we sit? Would you like a coffee?’

She sat down on the couch. He took the recliner.

‘You don’t have to entertain me, sir. You’re sick. You should be resting.’

‘The dehydration was an easy fix. I have meds for everything else.’

She nodded.

‘Oh, uh, I’m not unaware that your actions forestalled a far more unpleasant conclusion,’ Kent said.

Miss Wilson clenched her hands together. ‘That’s one way to put it.’

Kent shifted in his seat. ‘Forgive me, what have done to anger you to such a degree?’

‘I’m not angry. I’m irritated. Sir, I thought you might die and there was nothing I could do. Do you have any comprehension how that feels?’

He shook his head.

She seemed to notice how tense her body was and forced herself to relax. ‘It’s exceptionally unpleasant. I wouldn’t recommend it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I-’

‘And here you are, going against medical advice to leave the hospital,’ she continued. ‘With nobody here to take care of you. Should you collapse again nobody will know. You might lie there, unconscious, for days.’

He couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’m feeling much better,’ he said meekly.

‘On Thursday you looked me in the eye and told me you were fine, forgive me for some natural scepticism.’

‘I didn’t want you to worry,’ Kent said.

‘God job, sir.’

He winced. It was inappropriate. The whole conversation was wildly beyond the bounds of propriety. He couldn’t blame her.

***

In the morning, he was surprised to find that she was in before he arrived. She’d been furious when he told her he was coming in to work. Too furious to do anything more than slam back her coffee and leave. He should have said something. He should have drawn a line. Well, if that continued he’d have to. He’d have to tell her to pull back her horns. Which was baffling. If she got so emotionally invested then how did she work for Meyer for so long without slapping her?

He was feeling better. Not well, but better. Certainly well enough to make it through the day. He had to be: he had mountains of emails and dozens of meetings. He’d have to eat at his desk. Except he’d forgotten to bring anything. Damn it. Now either she was going to ignore it, because she was still angry, or bring something despite it. He should have put his foot down earlier. He didn’t care if other people’s assistants brought them lunch, or coffee, or even if they brought them booze and blow. He didn’t like it. It wasn’t appropriate. It was demeaning for her and too risky for him. There was something… primal about being fed by someone. Being looked after by someone. His feelings for her were awkward enough without encouraging them, _feeding_ them.

She brought him breakfast. A small tub of granola. Some plain yoghurt. An apple. A cup of coffee. He wanted the ground to swallow him up.

‘You need to keep up your strength.’

He covered his eyes with his hand and cringed. ‘That’s far too kind,’ he mumbled.

She touched his other hand, the one on the desk. Just touched the back of his hand with her fingertips for a moment. His mouth ran dry. He didn’t much enjoy being touched by anyone. Being touched by her made his chest hurt and his head spin.

‘It’s my job, sir.’

He pulled himself together just as she was opening the door.

‘Miss Wilson.’

She swivelled on her heel; head tilted in a silent question.

‘I am concerned that I may… I may be taking advantage of your good nature.’

‘I don’t have a good nature, sir.’

He shifted in his chair and tried again. ‘I fear that it’s demeaning for someone of your position and calibre to be fetching food and drinks.’

She pursed her lips for a moment. ‘Only if you fail to respect that I do it because it enables you to concentrate on big picture issues.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘If it assists you, consider it a partnership.’

It didn’t, but he managed a nod.

Neither of them mentioned either her visit, or her storming out. She seemed to have settled, although she didn’t seem happy. But that could be be anything. Presumably she had a boyfriend, she seemed the type who would, so perhaps there was some upset at home. She never dragged out her day, so he didn’t think she was avoiding going home. Relationships weren’t a subject he considered himself well versed in. They were like, oh, vultures. Necessary, presumably, in certain situations, and doubtless quite fascinating to those inclined to the study. But also dangerous, and unpredictable, and something he didn’t want to get too close to.

***

Kent looked at the wedding invitation. It was on heavy card stock with gold leaf and heavy black lettering.

‘It’s from Michael,’ Miss Wilson said. ‘I also have one.’

‘I don’t understand the impulse to invite your co-workers to a wedding, let alone your boss.’ He put the card down and pushed it away.

‘Aren’t you going to go?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Nobody actually wants me there. It’s purely a courtesy.’

She shrugged. ‘That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t enjoy it. Are you invited to the reception or only the ceremony?’

‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’

She picked up the invitation. ‘You’re grumpy, today.’

‘And you’re cheeky.’ Kent looked away, feeling the warmth building in his cheeks.

‘‘You’re invited to both,’ she said, she sounded like there was a laugh trapped inside her.

‘Hip hip hoorah.’

‘The food should be good.’

He looked up. She was frowning.

‘What?’

‘There’s no plus one,’ she said, putting it down. ‘That seems uncharacteristically rude.’

‘Or characteristically attentive to detail.’

Miss Wilson thought about it. ‘I don’t follow.’

‘Why send a plus one to someone who never takes advantage of it? That might seem thoughtless.’

She pursed her lips. ‘You never take dates to work events?’

‘No.’ He handed her the folder for filing, but she didn’t move.

‘Never?’

‘Never ever,’ he promised.

Miss Wilson raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t people feel offended at being left out?’

Kent blinked at her, feeling a little adrift. ‘What people?’

‘The people that you’re dating when you’re going to work events.’

Kent hunched his shoulders. He was beginning to feel as if he was being got at. ‘I don’t much go to work events.’

‘But when you do.’

He was too stubborn. Too stubborn to admit it was bothering him. Too stubborn to tell her so.

‘Well, given I am an essentially solitary person and I rarely date, the situation never arises.’

She looked like she’d been slapped. He watched her walk away, baffled what had apparently done to upset her.

***

‘I don’t understand women.’

Kent looked askance as Ben heaved himself down onto the stool next to him. He hardly ever went out to a bar and the first time he’d been out in months, here was Ben Cafferty.

‘I have been running around D.C. for weeks trying to scrounge up some options for POTUS,’ Ben said, ‘someone who’s going to hit the sweet spot of minorities and controllability. Do you know what happened today?’

Kent gently swirled the whisky around in his glass. ‘Meyer changed her mind. She’s not stepping down.’

Ben sank his bourbon and gestured for another. ‘How the fuck did you hear that already?’

‘The grapevine is always more efficacious than any official announcement.’

Ben narrowed his eyes as he looked at him. ‘Meyer made Wilson an offer to come back?’

Kent’s stomach clenched. ‘Not yet, at least not as far as I know.’

Ben waved his free hand. ‘But she will.’

‘Meyer would be an idiot if she didn’t.’ Kent took a sip of his whisky. ‘She’s been limping along with temps on the understanding that it was transitory.’

‘You think Wilson will jump?’

Kent’s mouth twitched. ‘I suppose it depends on the offer that Meyer makes. I’m sure that it’s considered a more glamorous position.’ He looked at Ben. ‘You’re aware that Meyer hopes to make another run at nomination.’

Ben spluttered out his bourbon. ‘Presidential?’

‘Yes.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

Kent shrugged. ‘That being so, it would be logical for Miss Wilson to take the job.’

Ben finished his bourbon and tapped the glass on the counter. ‘You look like your mom died.’

Kent took another sip of his whisky. ‘Kindly refrain from even speculating on my mother’s mortality.’

‘Am I to take it from the look on your face that you’re screwing her or that you’re not screwing her _yet_?’

Kent drained his glass and stood up. ‘If I appear aggrieved, it’s purely because she’s extremely competent. I don’t relish having to find another assistant/office manager.’

‘Sure,’ Ben said. ‘Keep telling yourself that.’

 

Kent poked listlessly at his computer. He’d come in early to get some things straightened but he was struggling to concentrate. How long would it take for Meyer to make an offer? How long would Miss Wilson need to assess the pros and cons? He could offer more money, that wasn’t a problem. Stature was the problem. Her current role was higher profile and had more authority, but the office of the vice president surely _sounded_ more prestigious. Even if one was aware that the actual VEEP was almost entirely useless, that wouldn’t sufficiently devalue the position.

Perhaps it might be for the best. The ability to make him jumpy and distracted simply by entering the room was hardly something he looked for in an employee. So why did the prospect make him nauseous?

Doubtless she considered him a deficient employer. They seemed to be continually at cross-purposes, misunderstanding each other, or simply floundering in confusion. When he wasn’t angering her he was offending her, and he was never quite sure how. It bothered him far more than it should. Far more than was logical or rational. He never considered himself socially adept, he had enough self-awareness to know that, but he hadn’t struggled quite so much to understand, to be understood, since he was a teenager.

Kent jolted when he heard the tap of kitten heeled shoes approaching. It wasn’t quite nine. She must be bringing the mail. That or she was coming to deliver her resignation.

‘Good morning, sir,’ she said, leaning in the doorway. She wasn’t holding mail or anything else. ‘I’m going to get a coffee. Would you like one?’

‘Uh, thank you.’

Was that a different outfit? He was pretty sure he hadn’t noticed a skirt above the knee before. One of those tight, straight skirts that rode up when a woman sat down. It clung to her when she sauntered away. Kent had to force himself not to stare. He could’ve watched that all day.

 

She joined him for coffee. His hands shook as he picked up the cup.

‘I’m going to the stores at lunch time to pick up a gift for Michael and Jenny,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to pick up a gift on your behalf?’

‘Are you suggesting I’m unable to buy a wedding gift for two people I introduced?’

Miss Wilson raised her eyebrows. ‘I wasn’t aware of that.’

‘Jenny interned with me a few years ago.’

‘You didn’t employ her?’

Kent shook his head. ‘She followed her passion for particle physics instead.’

Miss Wilson blinked. ‘Is that contagious?’

‘Miss Wilson, I’m shocked that you would undermine the intellect and ability of a dedicated young woman in such a way.’

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. ‘I am mortified, Mr. Davison.’

‘I should hope so.’ He couldn’t quite maintain an appropriate scowl.

Miss Wilson crossed her legs at the knee. Her skirt slid up to her thigh. Kent licked his lips and looked away.

‘If you introduced them then it would only be proper for you to go to the wedding.’

Kent shifted in his seat. ‘You seem suspiciously invested in whether I’m going to this wedding. I’m becoming deeply uneasy that you have some terrible plot in hand.’

She snorted, which was sure he’d never heard her do before. It sent a pleasant shiver up his spine.

‘Paranoia is unbecoming, Mr. Davison.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘I am simply curious to see you in a social environment.’

Kent ran his thumb over the lip of the cup. ‘When you were at school, was there ever an intelligent but socially awkward child who spent every social occasion in the corner of the room?’

Miss Wilson stared at him silently for a few seconds longer than was comfortable and then dropped her gaze to her cup of coffee. ‘I’m sure that you’re being unfair to yourself.’

‘I assure you that I’m not. Nonetheless you will be able to ascertain for yourself.’

She looked up again. ‘You’re coming to the wedding?’

‘The lady was insistent,’ he said sheepishly.

‘Good.’ Miss Wilson smoothed her skirt.

Kent tapped his fingers on the table. ‘Will you… I suppose that you’ve heard about Selina Meyer?’

She stood up, gathering both of their cups. ‘That she has decided to continue, yes.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Ah, you’re wondering if she’s approached me to return.’

He nodded. ‘If I were her, I would.’

‘She did.’

Kent cleared his throat. ‘You weren’t going to say anything?’

Miss Wilson shrugged. ‘I can’t think of a way to raise the issue without incorrectly giving you the impression that I was attempting to start a bidding war. I’m quite content here, Mr. Davison, I hope that you wouldn’t have encouraged me to leave.’

He was already shaking his head. ‘Not at all.’

She gave him a small but sweet smile. ‘Good.’

***

It was quite a small wedding; Kent was quite relieved to find himself sitting with the single members of the dream metrics team. Miss Wilson and the other successfully coupled White House staff members were seated on the other side of the church. It was the usual sort of thing, fortunately short, and they were arriving at the reception just as his stomach started to rumble. Poor Jenny looked as though she wouldn’t be able to keep down a single mouthful. It wasn’t really something Kent have ever given much thought to. He’d always been aware that he was, to some extent, on the outside looking in. It rarely bothered him. He certainly didn’t spend his time pining. Nonetheless, as he grew older he was occasionally aware of a certain… absence.

Kent checked his watch. He’d decided to allow himself ninety minutes before making his goodbyes. Or, more preferably, ninety minutes before slipping away unseen. He’d handed over his present, been seen by the happy couple, and listened to several droning speeches. He had done his bit. Another fifteen or twenty minutes should be enough time.

He was at the back of the room, examining the hot and cold buffet. Eating something would pass a few minutes. Besides, he was hungry. When he thought about it, he realised that he hadn’t eaten all day.

‘How is it that the one person who barely seems to remember to eat is the one person stalking the food?’

Kent turned around. Miss Wilson was dressed in a clinging, orange dress that was cut high enough to skirt her thighs and low enough to show a hint of cleavage. He tried not to stare.

‘It’s the equivalent of hiding in the kitchen at parties,’ he suggested, as she stood by him and scanned the tables.

‘Please don’t tell me you did that.’

‘Not really.’

‘Thank goodness,’ she said severely.

‘I didn’t actually go to many parties.’

Miss Wilson looked at him. ‘Did you ever consider becoming an astronaut?’

He thought about it. ‘Is my head in the clouds?’

‘You give the impression that you’d be a good deal happier if you were the only person on the planet. Perhaps the moon or a space station would suit you more.’

‘Sign me up.’

Miss Wilson shook her head. ‘Nobody around to ensure you ate.’

Kent snaffled an hors d'oeuvre. ‘I don’t have a problem with food beyond forgetting it from time to time.’

‘Some people might consider that a significant issue.’

‘I’ll try not to starve.’

Miss Wilson sipped her drink. ‘You forget to eat. You don’t date. You fall asleep at your desk. A person might conclude you weren’t very in tune with your base, primal needs.’

Kent felt warmth touch his cheeks. ‘I only fell asleep because I was unwell.’

‘The point remains.’ She looked at him from under her lashes. ‘You need to nurture your inner caveman, Mr. Davison.’

Kent took a bite of his food and tried to think of a reply.

‘Sue!’

Miss Wilson turned. A man about her age was striding towards them. Kent noticed that her shoulders sagged when she saw him.

‘Sean, shall we-’

‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ He looked past her to Kent. ‘Who’s this?’

‘It doesn't matter.’

‘Kent Davison,’ he said at the same time, holding out his hand. He winced when he registered what she’d said.

Sean took a step back and looked at her. ‘Is this him?’

Kent lowered his hand.

‘Sean, don’t –’

‘I want a word with you,’ Sean said. ‘It’s not acceptable, right? It’s got to stop.’

Kent swallowed. ‘I have no idea what you’re referring to.’

Sean stabbed his finger at the air between them. ‘Taking advantage of Sue. I’m not having it.’

Kent looked at her, but she had her face buried in her hands.

‘What exactly are you accusing me of doing?’ he asked.

‘Overtime! It’s been going on for weeks; last week is was every night. This is outrageous.’

Kent put down his plate. ‘Sean, is it? Sean, Miss Wilson is an exceptionally competent employee and, if there are times when she works beyond her agreed hours, then it is because her work is extremely important and particularly time sensitive.’

‘She’s got a life outside work. Just because you haven’t doesn’t make it okay. How about showing her some respect?’

‘Sean, _please_ stop.’

‘Respect?’ Kent repeated. ‘Look at her. You’re humiliating her at a co-workers’ wedding. I’m going to show my respect by walking away.’

People were watching as he strode away. He didn’t know how much they’d heard. Sean would only need to hear one careless comment that she never worked late to set everything off.

He had no business being disappointed. Miss Wilson didn’t owe him anything. She certainly had no responsibility to live her life in a way that would suit him. Cheating on her boyfriend wasn’t illegal. It wasn’t even that uncommon. He had no idea what her private life was like. He had absolutely no right to judge her or how she lived her life.

Nonetheless, he _was_ disappointed. When he was younger, he thought infidelity was something confined to the morally deficient. He’d learnt. He knew that people grew apart, that long hours and diverging interests could undermine the foundations of any relationship. But he would have thought her strong enough and honest enough not to sneak around. She hardly seemed to be the sort of person to lie and dissemble for weeks or months.

That was ridiculous. He didn’t know her, not really, and she clearly had been deceiving her boyfriend. And blaming Kent, which was a little annoying. She could at least have warned him. He wasn’t a very natural liar. At least the boyfriend hadn’t assumed she was having the affair with Kent. That was probably next. No. Of course not. Nobody would ever believe that.

* * *

He kept his head down when she brought in his coffee. She put the cup down on his desk and shut the office door. He felt like hiding behind his desk.

‘Sir?’

‘Thank you. That’s all.’ He sounder gruffer than he intended.

‘Might we talk?’ she asked.

He looked up. He’d never heard quite that meek tone from her before.

‘I don’t think there’s any necessity,’ he said more gently.

Miss Wilson pulled out a guest chair and sat down. Kent groaned. She winced at the sound.

I’m not cheating on Sean,’ she said.

Kent looked away. ‘It’s none of my business.’

‘That’s what you say when you don’t believe someone.’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘You’re lying to your boyfriend. Why would you tell the truth to me?’

‘I deserve that.’ She sighed. ‘I love Sean. We’ve been together quite a while. There was a time when I saw a future with him.’

Kent shifted in his seat. ‘Miss Wilson –’

‘Sir, surely you of all people can understand needing some space, and time, and quiet. I need to decompress by myself. So I go to a gallery or an exhibit. That’s all.’

Kent glanced at her and saw her lick her lips, the pink tongue circling. He dropped his gaze quickly.

 ‘Sean wants us to be together every possible moment,’ she said. ‘The more I explain I need private time, the clingier he becomes.’

He heard the rustle of fabric as she re-crossed her legs.

 ‘I didn’t want to hurt his feelings,’ she said.

‘I see.’

 ‘I’m embarrassing you.’

‘I don’t know why you’re telling me this.’

When she replied her voice was low and quiet. ‘I don’t want you to think badly of me.’

‘I’d never do that.’ He spoke too quickly and without thinking.

Miss Wilson was silent for a moment, and then he heard her stand. He looked up just as she put her hand on his forearm. He had to force himself not to yank his arm away.

‘Thank you for covering for me.’

‘Of course.’

He watched her leave. She had tensed shoulders and a stiff back. The last effect he wanted to have on her.

Well, that was the final nail wasn’t it? When a woman started talking to you about her romantic problems, you knew she thought you less of a prospect than the chair you were sitting on. He wasn’t surprised. He knew someone like her would be never been interested in him, even under radically different circumstances. Nonetheless, it still stung.

***

Things weren’t going well at home. She didn’t talk to him about it but he recognised the signs well enough. He suggested, as carefully as he could, that she take a few days off. But she declined. He didn’t know what else he could do.

One Wednesday he got into the office late, after an over-long morning meeting with POTUS. Someone had left a stack of increasingly hysterical notes on his desk. He thought the handwriting looked like Bob’s. The first note – helpfully time stamped – said, _“I’m not complaining or anything, but there are some very strange noises coming from Miss Wilson’s office.”_ The latest one said, _“It’s been going on for hours!!! How am I supposed to work?!?”_

Kent balled up the mass of paper and threw it in the bin.

When he walked into the dream metrics office, he was met with a combination of relief and embarrassment.

‘She seems very upset,’ Tony whispered. ‘I knocked on the door but she didn’t seem to want to talk about it.’

‘If people can’t do their work they should go home,’ Bob muttered.

‘The only person saying they can’t work is you,’ Kent said. He looked at the coffee machine. ‘How does she take her coffee?’

‘Oh, she has chocolate,’ Tony said.

‘Right.’ Kent took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. He made a mug of hot chocolate and put a couple of cookies onto a plate. ‘If I’m not back in thirty minutes, evacuate the building.’

He tapped on the door before he opened it, but the reply was incomprehensible. He opened the door with his elbow and then turned to push it shut with his foot.

Miss Wilson was hiding behind her computer. He put down the cup and the plate and sat down. After a few seconds, she looked at him.

‘Brought you a snack,’ Kent said.

She picked up the mug and wrapped her hands around it. ‘Bob complained?’

‘You know Bob. If he won the lottery he’d complain the cheque was too heavy.’

She smiled slightly and blew her nose on a tissue. Her eyes were swollen and red rimmed and she’d obviously been crying for hours.

Kent unfolded his handkerchief and handed it to her.

She dabbed her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

After a few seconds, she put her hand over his. His chest squeezed up against his heart and lungs. He turned his hand over, to hold hers loosely.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘No need.’

‘Sean and I parted,’ she explained.

Kent nodded.

Miss Wilson raised an eyebrow. ‘For a man I imagine that walking into a room with a crying woman must be close to facing down a charging bull.’

‘Depends on the man,’ he said, ‘and the woman.’

Her gaze slid down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. ‘This is deeply out of character for me. I’m not a woman who cries.’

‘Then I’m honoured to have seen it.’

Miss Wilson tilled her head. ‘Is the humour a defence mechanism?’

He felt his heart rattling against his rib cage. ‘Perhaps a little.’

‘I think we’re both some way out of our comfort zone,’ she said, stroking her thumb across the back of his hand.

Kent shivered. ‘That’s probably a fair assessment.’

With her other hand she dried her eyes. ‘I’m feeling much better now.’

‘So soon?’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps I only needed someone to come hold my hand.’

‘I’ll tell Bob that he missed his shot.’ Kent stood up as Miss Wilson returned her attention to the computer.

‘I think it had to be the right person,’ she said. She didn’t look at him, but she smiled a tiny bit.

***

The best part of Christmas was that he took a few days off. The worst part of Christmas was the crowds. Kent had no major issue with shopping, as such, but he found the crushing mass of people stressful and distracting. Miss Wilson had been a touch put out that he hadn’t asked her to deal with the gift buying. He was determined to maintain that independence. Not to mention that he couldn’t think of much less appropriate than asking her to purchase her own gift.

‘Jesus fuck! As if this day could get worse.’

Kent turned towards the sound. About ten feet away, Selina Meyer was rattling a box and ranting to the personal shopper. Next to her, that daughter of hers was cringing with embarrassment. The daughter caught his eye and clomped over. Even in delicate and elegant dress, there was something innately gawky and ungainly about her.

‘Hey Mr. Davison,’ she said. ‘Uh, it’s Catherine Meyer.’

He nodded. ‘Good evening, I didn’t realise your mother did her own gifting.’

Catherine rolled her eyes. ‘It’s some focus group thing. It’s supposed to make her more normal or something. She’s hating it.’

‘I don’t much enjoy it myself,’ Kent admitted.

‘Shame you don’t have someone to do that,’ Selina said. ‘Oh wait, you have an assistant now. Remember? You stole my appoint secretary.’

Catherine rolled her eyes at Kent. He raised his eyebrows in response.

‘Perhaps you should have made her a better offer,’ Kent suggested.

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t undermine your own Vice President, you ever think of that?’ she tossed her hair back and stalked off.

‘Nobody holds a grudge like my mom,’ Catherine said. ‘She took it really personally when Sue turned her down.’

‘There are things she doesn’t take personally?’

Catherine shrugged. ‘I guess, but I don’t know what they are.’ She played with a strand of her hair. ‘You know you blush a little when anyone mentions Sue. See, there it is again.’

Kent squared his shoulders. ‘I’m sure that can’t be true.’

Catherine smirked slightly. ‘Are you here buying a present for her? She wears Gaultier.’

Kent caught his knee-jerk denial. ‘Which one is that?’

‘This one. Oh, but a gift box would be better.’

Kent weighed the box in his hand. ‘I don’t wish to be cheap.’

Catherine raised her eyebrows. ‘God, you senior people have no idea how money works. Trust me, that’s not a cheap gift.’

‘Would it be rude to ask why you’re being so helpful?’

‘Why wouldn’t I? I like Sue.’ Catherine shrugged. ‘It’s cute that you’re crushing on her.’

‘I’m not! I’m merely her employer. That’s all.’

‘Sure,’ Catherine said. ‘But you’d be super sweet together. Weird, but sweet.’’ She grinned suddenly. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t say anything to my mom.’

***

It was going to be a delicate operation. Kent had meetings booked all day, many of them offsite, and the courier would be delivering her gift at four forty-five: nonetheless he was concerned. It was very _pressing_ that he not be around when she received the perfume. Whether he had chosen well or badly would make little difference to his embarrassment if he were there. His absolutely ideal scenario would be for her to receive it, enjoy it – obviously – but say absolutely nothing about it. He didn’t think she would make a scene, as such, but honestly, anything would be been too much. Just avoiding the mistletoe some wag had hung up in the corridors was giving him palpitations.

The other problem was if she decided to buy _him_ something. If she did, then she’d obviously make an effort to see him. Shit. On the other hand, he didn’t really have any strong reason to believe she would. Why would she? He was just the boss. He was the one who felt beholden to express admiration for hard work.

He was overthinking things. It’d be fine, and by the time they returned to work, the moment to gracefully say thank you would have passed. Simple.

At three o’clock, he was in the Eisenhower building meeting with Meyer. The bullpen looked as though the Walmart Christmas aisle had exploded. It didn’t seem to be helping; the general mood was of misery. Very seasonal.

‘Can’t you re-frame the questions?’ Selina demanded.

‘Certainly, but what I cannot do is reframe reality.’

She threw a small ornament. It bounced a few times along the carpet and then came to rest against the wall. She sighed and shook her head.

‘Do you feel better?’ Kent asked.

‘Not nearly enough.’ She slumped back in her chair. ‘God damn it. I worked for this, Kent, and I want it.’

‘You can’t always get what you want.’

Selina rolled her eyes. ‘Thanks, _Mick_. Sure, but I work hard for what I want. Any asshole who just hopes for shit, and doesn’t do a thing to achieve it, can be philosophical. Not me. I’m owed.’

‘Ma’am, the world doesn’t work that way.’

Selina scowled. ‘Not for passive fuckers like you. You don’t deserve shit.’

When he finally returned to the office, everyone had already left. Kent walk past the sagging decorations, kicked away the fallen tinsel, and made himself a coffee. He sat at his desk, closed his eyes, and just enjoyed the quiet. Miss Wilson hadn’t left him anything, and that was a relief. Everything had gone as well as he could have hoped.

A few days ago, he had heard describe herself as “single”, and that had sent him into a panic. Ridiculous. How could her dating someone be a safety net? It did still somehow feel that way. Nonetheless, he was sure that situation wouldn’t last. She could presumably pick and choose.

Kent needed to get a grip on himself. He was a supposedly mature man and he was infatuated with a younger woman. It wasn’t more than inappropriate; it was a damn cliché. He might as well start driving a sports car and have done with it. He was embarrassing himself. If she knew, then he was probably embarrassing her.

What if the perfume was too much? Perhaps she was sat at home right at that moment wondering how to deal with it. How to dissuade the repugnant old man without poisoning the work environment. She could easily get another position, very easily. Maybe she’d be offended enough to tell people. He’d be a laughing stock, all because he didn’t know how to deal with little more than a schoolboy crush. Kent felt nauseated. He finished his coffee and he went home.

He was in the shower when the buzzer sounded. Kent closed his eyes, lent against the cubicle wall, and tried to ignore it. Somehow, that seemed to make it worse. It appeared to grow louder and more insistent. Eventually he got out of the shower and padded over to the intercom.

‘ _What_?’

‘Mr. Davison?’

He banged his head silently against the slick bathroom tiles.

‘Mr. Davison? It’s Sue Wilson. May I come up?’

‘Miss Wilson, it’s Christmas,’ he said softly.

‘I... I know that?’ She sounded completely confused.

‘Look, we both know that I’m an anti-social asshole who can’t play nicely with others,’ he said. ‘So can we shelve your... doubtless well-justified offense until after the break?’

There was a long pause. ‘I think we’re perhaps talking at cross-purposes,’ she said eventually.

‘Miss Wilson, I’m tired, I was in the shower, and I don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with whatever is upsetting you. Whatever it is, I’m sorry. Honestly. It has never been my intention or desire to hurt you. My only defence is ignorance.’

‘I’m not hurt or upset,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Please will you allow me to come up to your apartment?’

‘For Christ sake, _why_?’

‘Mr Davison, it’s taken me a long time to gather the nerve to do this. So please, let me in.’

He shook his head. Turned off the intercom. Buzzed her in. He dried off quickly and got dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. His hair was still wet. He was rubbing it with a towel when he answered the door.

Miss Wilson had put on different makeup. Quite glamorous. That was the first thing he noticed, the shimmering gold makeup circling her eyes, and the soft shine of her lipstick. Her mouth twitched a brief, anxious smile. She didn’t say anything.

Kent groaned inwardly. She was waiting for him to invite her in. He took a step back and vaguely waved his hand.

‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’ She took off her coat and hung it up. She was wearing a thigh length, off the shoulder, red dress, and red kitten heels.

‘I was in the shower.’ Kent rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Going to a party?’

‘No.’ Miss Wilson looked around the room. ‘You don’t have any decorations up.’

‘Didn’t seem much point.’

She smiled slightly. ‘Not even any mistletoe.’

‘Since I live on my own that would seem a little… desperate and deluded,’ he said. ‘Uh, I really don’t understand what’s happening here.’

Miss Wilson nodded. ‘I see that.’ She looked around the room. ‘Is the kitchen this way?’

He followed as she walked into the kitchen and watched as she opened the refrigerator.

‘Ah, this will do in a pinch.’

Kent moved a little closer to see what she was doing: she had a lettuce out of the crisper and was peeling off a piece.

‘Have I had a relapse?’ he asked. ‘This seems like some sort of fever delusion.’

She shut the refrigerator door, turned on her heel, and put her free hand to his forehead. ‘You’re fine,’ she said. ‘Please don’t frighten me in that manner.’

‘With respect, Miss Wilson, that’s exactly what a delusion would say. Why are you holding a piece of lettuce?’

‘My first name is Sue,’ she said mildly. ‘Please feel free to use it. Now, this room does not have the appropriate ambience,’ she said. ‘Shall we return to the living room?’

‘I… sure.’

She looked amazing. Although he was confused and spun around, he could at least appreciate that. He followed her back into the living room as she carefully placed the lettuce leaf on top of a bookcase.

Then she turned and crooked a finger at him. He walked over obediently.

‘Do you see that?’ she asked.

‘Uh huh. The lettuce?’

Miss Wilson nodded. ‘It’s not lettuce.’

Kent blinked. ‘Okay.’

‘Imagine,’ she said, ‘that it’s mistletoe.’

Kent looked up at the bookcase, and then at her. ‘Oh…’

She kissed him. He felt her left hand slid up into his hair as he dipped his face slightly. She was so warm. When he slipped his arms around her waist, he felt her heat through his thin t-shirt.

‘Mmm,’ she murmured as she pulled back. ‘Your breathing is a little heavy.’

‘That happens when I’m excited.’

She ran her fingers through his hair. ‘Your hair is wet.’

‘I was in the shower.’ There had to be something clever he could say. Clever or funny or charming. Things he’d never been. Never would be.

She nodded. ‘You said.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you shocked?’

‘Surprised.’ Kent licked his lips. ‘Pleasantly.’

‘I grew tired of waiting.’ Sue kissed him again. When he pulled her against him, she sighed softly.

‘You were waiting for me to… do something?’ he asked. ‘Say something?’

‘Either would have sufficed.’

‘I couldn’t… I’m your employer. It would be completely inappropriate.’ Kent gently stroked his thumb against her waist. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s an appalling abuse of power.’

‘I’m a grown woman.’

‘Grown women can be harassed.’

Sue rolled her eyes. ‘As can grown men. However you, Kent, you couldn’t harass me with a bullwhip and a cattle prod.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Are you complaining at _not_ being considered capable of harassment?’ she asked.

Kent smiled slightly. ‘Well, when you put it that way.’

Sue gently pulled his arms from her waist. ‘You should dry your hair.’

‘Oh. Are we… are we done?’ he asked.

‘We can’t go out to dinner anywhere nice with you dressed like that.’ She put her finger to his lips. ‘Or with you covered in lipstick.’

Kent put out the tip of his tongue to taste the lipstick. When it touched her finger, Sue grinned, and then dropped her hand.

‘I’ll go dry my hair,’ he said. ‘And get changed.’

‘Thank you,’ Sue said gravely. ‘The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and behave _inappropriately_.’

‘Promise?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Eat all your greens and it might even be _egregious_.’

Kent took the lettuce down, ate it, and winked at her.

 

The End

 

 


End file.
